


Impressing

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Thorin Oakenshield, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:51:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur watches Thorin charge into the courting of their burglar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressing

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “In which fem!Thorin aggressively loves Bilbo and tries to win his fussy Hobbit heart” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19086349#t19086349).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For the most part, they all ignore Bilbo’s rummaging, because he’s just fussy like that. They have the campfire going and sit about to talk, though Thorin and Dwalin have mysteriously disappeared, and about half an hour in, Dwalin reappears and murmurs something in Óin’s ear, who then gets up to head off into the general woods about them. Gandalf shakes his head and chuckles to himself but doesn’t say a word, and no one bothers to ask him, because he’d only answer in a riddle. Bofur assumes there’s a perfectly good reason for the nonsense going on, and he can guess it well enough. 

Bilbo returns shortly, climbing over Bofur’s log to plop himself down. He looks thoroughly put out, like he did when they first left without the handkerchiefs he wanted. Nori comes over to offer Bilbo a bowl of lumpy stew, and Bofur hands his empty bowl back to Nori, who putters off with a short glare as though to say he isn’t a maid. Bofur just dons a winning grin that says: ‘you’re _my_ maid,’ and turns back to Bilbo before they can get into it. As Bilbo sullenly pokes at his food with a wooden spoon too big for his little fingers, Bofur asks, “What were you looking for?”

“My favourite jacket,” Bilbo sighs. “The maroon one. I tore it a ways back, but I’d been hoping to patch it up when I got the chance. I do hope it hasn’t fallen out somewhere.” Shaking his head, he puts his bowl down between his feet and instead thrusts a hand into his vest pocket, drawing out a pipe. He mashes a couple of leaves into it from the other pocket, then gets up to take a step towards the fire with it. 

When he sits back down, Bofur lifts an eyebrow, wondering aloud, “Where’d you get the pipe-weed? I thought you’d lost it all in the goblin tunnels.”

“I did,” Bilbo says, before blowing a smoke ring that Thorin could blow circles around. “But Thorin gave me some more, or something close enough for a weary hobbit too far from the good stuff to complain.”

Bofur nods once to himself. He’s grinning, can’t help himself, and Bilbo spies it through the fading light, looking curious. Bofur indulges himself enough to say, “Oh she did, did she?”

Bilbo lifts a brow and pulls the pipe from his lips to ask, “Yes, she did, but why are you saying it like that?”

Bofur snorts. Then he shakes his head. He _knew_ it—or at least, he thought he did, but this confirms it all and now he’s sure. He pays attention to these sorts of things, and Thorin was giving off all the signs. Now surely even their burglar must be able to see it, and Bofur tells him plainly, “It seems our queen has a crush.”

For a moment, Bilbo just blinks, looking even more confused. Then he blushes furiously and says, “She does not!” Beside him, Dori looks around, and Bilbo hurriedly lowers his voice, hissing to Bofur, “She does not.”

Most of the other dwarves are either engaged in their own conversations or pestering Nori for more food, so Bofur doesn’t bother to whisper back, just asks, “Why’s she giving you gifts, then?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bilbo insists, nearly scowling, as though Bofur’s having a good laugh at his expense. “She’s twice the size of me! And she’s a... a queen! And a big, gruff warrior who hardly ever smiles; and you think she wants a stuffy old hobbit like me. How absurd.”

“She’s actually much older than you. And in case you haven’t noticed, she’s gruff to everyone.”

Bilbo shakes his head but doesn’t answer. It’s clear on his face he’s stubbornly refusing to believe it. Bofur just shrugs, feeling too kind tonight to poke at him. There’s no need to go on anyway, because Óin takes that moment to reappear. He sits down next to Glóin, who asks, “Where were you off to?” But before he can answer, Thorin’s storming into the circle.

She marches straight across it, barely bothering to sidestep the fire, to halt right in front of Bilbo and thrust out her hands. She holds his maroon coat between them—unmistakably his for the size of it and the distinct lack of complex detailing: it’s just clean seams. She has bandages wrapped around a few of her fingers, but her face is as fearless as ever. The determination on her face at this moment would send a camp of orcs running for the hills. 

Bilbo says numbly, “My coat.”

“I fixed it,” Thorin grunts. She’s _almost_ glaring, like daring him to comment on her lack of homely skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happened to her hands, and why Óin left with her. 

Bilbo still squeaks, “What happened to your fingers?”

Thorin growls, “I was attacked by a warg.” Dwalin instantly stands up, but Thorin snaps, “I’m fine, fine. Everything’s fine.” Bofur has to thrust his own hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. He almost feels sorry for her. With her back to the fire, it’s hard to see the blush on her face, but it’s definitely there. Bilbo’s all pink and red. 

He murmurs quietly, “You didn’t have to do that, Thorin. I mean, thank you—thank you very much, I do appreciate it, but sewing isn’t for everyone—”

Almost comically aggressive, Thorin insists, “I know how to sew!” Her growing blush says otherwise, but she goes on, “I may be better at swordsmanship and tactics, which are frankly more valuable skills to have around, but I’ll have you know I’m plenty good at other things, like cleaning and cooking and all that, and I’m also a very fierce lover.” Her jaw suddenly clamps shut as though she’s blurted far too much. It’s fortunate for her that she keeps a fair amount of facial hair along her sides, because it hides some of the blood in her cheeks, though not enough. Bilbo looks utterly gob smacked. 

Weakly, he says, “Oh. Um. Yes. You’re very... talented. Thank you.”

Thorin now looks a bit lost under all the determination, and she also grunts, “Thank you.” She waits about a minute more, locked in a heated gaze with Bilbo, and then she abruptly drops the coat into Bilbo’s hands, turns on her heel, and marches off to sit down between Balin and Dwalin. Dwalin’s looking about as shocked as most of the dwarves, but Balin has a kind, sympathetic smile and pats Thorin’s shoulder. Bofur’s still covering his mouth to stop himself from dying of laughter. A few dwarves away, Nori looks in the same predicament, with Gandalf peering innocently up at the stars and wearing a broad grin.

Conversation only starts up again very slowly. Balin mutters something in Thorin’s ear that soon has them hurriedly discussing something too mumbled to hear, and Bilbo finally looks at Bofur with wide eyes. He murmurs dazedly, “Dwarves are so different than hobbits.”

Bofur couldn’t agree more. But they’re not entirely incompatible. He shrugs and says in an attempt to be consoling, “You wanted an adventure.” It comes out with too much amusement. 

Bilbo looks like he’s going to faint. But for once, he doesn’t argue the point. 

Instead, he shoves his arms into the coat, shuffles it into place, dumps his pipe to put away, and springs up to his feet. He’s got the same determined look Thorin had, except he takes a deep breath first. Then he chirps under his breath, “I’m going on an adventure.”

He walks right over to talk to Thorin, while Bofur sits back to enjoy the show.


End file.
